Babysitting
by theAkuRokuFaNaTiC
Summary: When Spirit first took on the job of Death Scythe, he was completely ready for a life of action and danger and maybe even death. He just didn't expect that his first job would be watching his Boss's ebony-haired toddler. This would entail as the hardest job that Spirit Albarn ever took on. Contains Fatherly Shinigami-sama, child!Kid, and SpiritXKami.


**A.N.: I've had most of this written FOREVER, but since my Midwest homeland decided to up and snow me in, I decided to finish it. I was quite surprised how my Family!ShinigamiXKid story turned out, so I wanted to add sweet Spirit into the mix. I hope you guys enjoy, and reviews would be loved. I don't own Soul Eater, because Okuba-sensei does. **

When Spirit was told that he was going to be the personal Death Scythe of Shinigami-sama, he was stupid enough to believe that he was actually going to get to see some real action.

He was also stupid to wish for action. Spirit did, after all, have a lovely new bride, heavily pregnant with the pair's first child.

Honestly, Spirit was hoping for a daughter. A sweet, chubby-faced daughter that he could dress up in fancy and frilly dresses. He wanted to be able to dote on the baby, and Kami, too.

And that is exactly why Spirit couldn't mess up this job. After the unexpected death of the former Death Scythe, Shinigami-sama had been rightfully wary to pick Spirit so quickly.

The redhead was young and hot-tempered and very stubborn; but in his defense, he was also strong and reliable.

Shinigami-sama said that he appreciated this.

This job was very crucial. To come to the DWMA, Spirit had to move away from home (sweet home Alabama), and Kami was already very far from her home. They were both still teenagers, she still trying to finish school and be a mother. That meant that Spirit had to get a job. And fast.

The Weapon wasn't naturally very good at a lot of things. He was tall and lean, and despite popular belief, very strong.

However, he was also clumsy. Spirit liked to think of himself as one who was good at yard work, considering he did grow up on a farm. Kami told him otherwise. As did every old lady whose lawn needed weekly mowing.

Stupid old ladies…

But Spirit was above holding grudges; he also didn't beg. So he most certainly did not stand at Mrs. Taylor's front door for ten minutes, explaining his sob story. Teenaged boy, teenaged girl, true love, faulty condom, boy's poor farming family, girl's parents who disowned her, both far from home.

Mrs. Taylor told him to sell his story to Hollywood.

Spirit told Mrs. Taylor that he saw Mr. Taylor walk into the local strip club.

This is why Spirit desperately required this job. It was a reliable job. And one of the perks to being the Death Scythe was free housing and a very steady income. And, yes, there was also a great risk to being a Death Scythe. Few even made it to their early forties.

But it was a risk that Spirit was willing to make for his pretty little wife and unborn baby. He wanted a good life for Kami; she worked hard, and it wasn't fair that she be the only one to suffer. The redhead wanted to take on at least a little bit of responsibility.

He actually wanted all of it, but it would look very odd if he had a noticeable baby bump. Spirit'd let Kami take just that one.

When Spirit first found out that there was an opening for the Death Scythe position, he had originally been shocked by the former Weapon's death; but then a thought occurred to him.

Not many Weapons were Scythes; Spirit was a Scythe, and he was pretty good at being a sharp, pointy blade. If Death's Weapon was called a Scythe, Spirit felt as though he should have a pretty good shot at the job.

And now was his first day. Nervous was an understatement, for sure. Putting on a nice suit jacket, some crisp slacks, and the tie that Kami had had specially made (she used her own money that she'd saved up from who-knows-where) felt foreign to Spirit. The color was comfortable, at least. Spirit was used to blacks and grays.

Everything else about this job, however, felt wrong. He wasn't used to feeling powerful or respected, or any of those things associated with being a Death Scythe. People gave the teenager odd looks whenever he was seen around Shinigami-sama, and the Reaper did nothing to dissuade the looks, with his tall body and hefty foam fingers.

Spirit didn't like this newfound sense of authority. People had started acting differently around him; even Kami treated the redhead strangely. It seemed as though everyone walked on eggshells around him.

But perhaps the oddest (and least desirable) part of this job was Shinigami-sama's tiny son. The boy was small, ebony-haired with bright, golden eyes that seemed to see through Spirit's entire being. He was only about a year old, still had that sweet baby face and innocent giggle that all infants had. Truthfully, Spirit just wanted to scoop the child into his arms and coddle him for days.

The boy Shinigami-sama only called "Kid." He was never seen in public, kept under his father's cloak for safe-keeping, watching the outside world from a secure distance.

Spirit took an uncertain look at the miniature boy; the raven-haired child was clad in an impressive suit and had his hair in perfect order. His chubby arms were wound around his father's neck, hands occasionally brushing against the Reaper's bony mask. It might've frightened a normal baby to death, but Kid seemed indifferent.

If he weren't so small, Spirit could've honestly been fooled by Kid's observant eyes. They narrowed at Spirit's tall figure, much like a wary adult's. It was remarkable, really, to see so much intelligence plastered on the face of a child.

The Scythe smiled as politely as humanly possible, as politely as a Death Scythe could smile at a child whose father held the strings that could send Spirit and his pregnant wife to the streets. Or prison. Or to the gallows. Did Shinigami-sama still believe in gallows? "Hey, Kid," Spirit said, using that arguably annoying voice that all adults use to address children.

But apparently no one used this voice with Kid. The tiny child raised a dark eyebrow and tightened his grip around his father's neck; in response, Shinigami-sama hoisted his son a little higher.

"Spirit, I have a job for you," Shinigami-sama began, gliding (perhaps walking, if one could see under that cloak to know what was really there) over to his stately desk. It was made of the pretty sort of wood that only those who had a nice paycheck could afford. It even had official-looking papers spread across it, with an authentic quill pen and ink bottle. Spirit guessed that those were only for show, though he wasn't about to make any bets.

Kid kicked his legs slightly when his father gently forced his arms apart and began to place the child in the large chair behind the desk. "Father," the black-haired child whined; his voice was high-pitched and gentle, akin to honey, if Spirit thought that honey had a voice.

"Yes, sir?" The Weapon asked, turning to his newly-acquired boss. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. Nervousness was slowly taking its strong hold on his blood, for it was running cold. Anyone who knew anything about Shinigami-sama and the rumors that surrounded him knew that he could kill someone with just one foam finger. An unsettling reality, of course.

"It would seem as though I've fallen behind on my paperwork, wouldn't you agree?" the Reaper said, his voice chipper and cordial. "I want to catch up on it, but I don't want Kid getting into anything." On that cue, Shinigami-sama scooped his son up, before Kid could knock over the bottle of ink. "Are you catching my drift that I'm getting at?"

Yes, Spirit did. But he'd rather not think about it, thank-you, Mr. Reaper.

"You can just watch him in here; I'd prefer that, actually. On that note, don't touch him." Snippy, are we, Mr. Reaper? "Kid's a bit...picky...about who he lets near him. I believe he'll be fine at a safe distance."

The ebony-haired boy kicked his legs in the air again, obviously irritated that his father had kept Kid from being held, and even more upset that he wasn't allowed to investigate the desk that he had been rudely placed at. He made those irritated sounds that toddlers make, undefinable and strange, but so completely infantile that no other being could pull it off as seamlessly. On any other person aside from a child, it would just seem whiny. Kid stuck out his quivering lower lip and reached a small hand to catch onto his father's robe. "Father," the boy said softly, golden eyes connecting with Spirit's for a second too long to be considered comfortable.

Embarrassingly, the redhead was the first to look away.

"Alright-y, Kiddo. I've got some work to catch up on, and I'm gonna have Spirit watch you until I'm done. Can you be good until then?"

As if showing his maturity, Kid nodded bravely and set his gaze to Spirit once more. Once satisfied, the Reaper placed his son into the ground carefully, making sure that Spirit wasn't too close to his most precious child.

Kid toddled towards Spirit, still wary of the man who was significantly taller than himself but not as large as his father. He seemed to be observing the Weapon with eyes that paid heed to every minute detail. If asked how many hairs Spirit had on his head, Kid would probably have an approximate answer.

"Do you want me to stay in here?" Spirit asked; he tried to keep his worry and hesitance out of his voice, but even he himself could hear the waver and quiver he gave off.

Most honorable, powerful Death Scythe indeed.

Pondering the thought for just a moment, Shinigami-sama nodded. "That sounds like a plan!" the tall figure said, voice chipper as always; Spirit could tell, of course, that any father would be stupid to leave their young child with an almost-stranger.

"So, Kid," the redhead started awkwardly; he chose to make as little eye contact with the miniature Reaper as humanly possible. Of course, the boy wanted to be more than observant. He just wanted to look through Spirit's soul, it seemed; and, if the Scythe could make a judgment, he'd say that Kid was doing a pretty fine job. "What do you like to do?"

The question caught Kid off-guard; he quickly scurried back to his father, who sighed loudly, and turned the child back towards the redhead. "Answer his question, Kiddo."

Pondering very carefully, the ebony-haired boy answered, "Read."

"Okay," Spirit said quickly, moving towards the bookshelf that Shinigami-sama kept in his office. There was quite the array of books, from old history books to outdated DWMA textbooks to ancient journals. Thumbing through the collection, the redhead chose a large, brown leather-bound book with gold embossed letters on the binding. Fairy tales. What kind of small child _didn't _love legends and myths and stories, all about plump kings and gentle fairies and chivalrous knights that could effortlessly sweep a blushing princess off her feet?

(Upon observation of Death the Kid's quirked eyebrow, Spirit would venture to say that _this _small child didn't love this sort of folklore).

"Come on. One story," Spirit said kindly. He handed the book to the golden-eyed child, who took the book into both his arms (it was quite the hefty book) and began to flip through the pages. There was an unappreciative sort of look on his face, though he dutifully read through the first sentence of each page, to be polite. His tiny mouth moved along with the words, occasionally stumbling over a rather difficult word.

Shinigami-sama watched wordlessly, returning to his work when his son noticed him. It would be nearly impossible to grab Kid's attention once it was focused on his father.

"I'd like to hear this one," Kid said softly as he handed the book back to Spirit. The Death Scythe's teal eyes landed on the page, a tale about a story that even _he _wasn't quite familiar with.

Spirit nodded and took a deep breath, deciding to be the storyteller that Kid expected.

For the next hour and a half (because Spirit stumbled over the same words that little Kid did), Spirit wove a wonderful story about castles with pointed turrets and stone walls that had rectangular bricks all the same size. He told of the townfolk, with their simple ways, and Spirit spoke of the ladies's dresses. They were large, poofy things, of all different colors; the richer women wore silk dresses, while the girls with less-to-do wore cotton. All the dresses, except for the summer styles, had long sleeves that came all the way to the women's hands. They had folds of lace surrounding them, and some women even had lace appliques on their clothing. That meant that you were either well-to-do, or _very _good at sewing.

Perhaps the thing that fascinated Kid the most, though, was the city itself. It had all cobblestone streets, and these streets had been put down by a master of the stone. This man would actually measure how long a stone needed to be to look perfect. It was rumored that the streets took twenty-five years to finish, and that the stone master had died the day after his creation's completion.

Kid's large yellow eyes softened. "He died...for perfection...?" the boy asked, voice as soft as a bird's down.

"Yeah, I guess so," Spirit replied; he was tired of this book, and any way he could make a discussion of said book to get out of reading said book was a welcome way to Spirit. "Some people die to fulfill their dreams, you know?"

The tiny Shinigami mulled on these thoughts. Without thinking, Kid began to bite his lip; he seemed to be very moved (or maybe disturbed) by this minute part of the story. It didn't even mean anything. In fact, the rest of the story was about some kind and brave knight who met some beautiful damsel in distress. He then saved her, and they lived happily ever after in his castle. Not that Spirit would know anything about this story, of course. He just knew the principle, because Kami loved reading those sorts of books. In fact, she practically demanded her new husband to read nonstop to their baby. Make its ears bleed, why don't you, Kami-chan?

"He wanted perfection...symmetry...oh, Father! Don't I love symmetry?" Kid looked over in his father's direction, though the child didn't notice that his father was much too busy working to actually listen to the question and the obvious repercussions that would come with it. Oh, but Spirit could feel them. Years of tireless searching for symmetry were ahead of Kid, and this obsession would undoubtedly be an arcane mixture of genetics, psychosis, Shinigami-sama's lack of an attention span, and _this stupid story_.

Certainly, this story was to blame for all of Kid's problems in later life. Yep, that was definitely it. And when he had come to such a solution, Spirit folded his arms and nodded in triumph.

"Yep, Yep!" Shinigami-sama answered in his very chipper voice.

Pleased with his father's answer, Kid turned to Spirit. "I think now, more than ever, I shall pursue the art of symmetry. If this mortal story has taught me one thing, it is this - if I have a desire, any sort of desire, I should try to accomplish it, no matter how hard. This dead stone master has shown me that, and you, by extension, for reading it to me. Thank you, Death Scythe."

"No...thank you, Aesop," the Death Scythe mumbled under his breath. Truthfully, he didn't quite know what to say.

The rest of the day went by very smoothly. Kid ate his lunch (eight apple slices, all cut to equal measures; a peanut butter sandwich with the crust symmetrically cut off - Kid didn't add jelly because_, _"_no_,"; and an apple juice box).

"He really likes his apples," Spirit observed, absentmindedly. Shinigami-sama looked up from his desk.

"Next to oranges, they're his second favorite fruit! Unpeeled oranges, that is. See, an unpeeled, unblemished orange is a sphere. And that's good. _But,_ peeling oranges always leaves those little white things which never taste okay, and Kid can't stand them because they're an, 'eyesore.' Apples are good, though. Apples are good."

Why, Kid even took a nap. He crawled atop one of Shinigami-sama's clouds that littered his office, after the boy's father lowered it some, and adjusted himself on it. Spirit didn't even know those things were good for sleeping. He just, you know, thought that they were a tasteful and exciting decoration.

When the time finally came for Spirit to venture home, he knelt down to little Kid's level. "Hey, I had a lot of fun getting to babysit you today. You're a pretty cool Kid," the Death Scythe said, taking a chance, just a little chance, to ruffle Kid's hair. It was soft and silky, and the best part was that Kid didn't smack Spirit's hand away.

"I too had an alright day."

Alright? _Alright? _That little brat didn't even realize how much hard work Spirit had put in to make sure that this Kid didn't get bored, or whiny, or go crying to "Father, Father". On another note -

- Spirit held his tongue and smiled.

"Father, can he come again?" Kid asked.

_Well_, Spirit thought, _that was unexpected_.

Pleased with the question, Shinigami-sama clapped his large gloves together. "What a wonderful question, Kiddo! And to answer that, I'm gonna say, 'yes.' You know, Spirit, I was pretty wary about hiring you to be my new Death Scythe. I knew you were good at what you did, but I just wasn't sure how you would handle without your normal Meister. This was a practice run. If you could keep Kid entertained, and keep him from coming to me - because he's quite good at it, and I would _have _to Reaper Chop you if Kid was upset by your actions - then you could be my Death Scythe. For real."

Mouth agape for just a few fleeting seconds, Spirit nodded. "That's a...that's a good story, Sir."

The redhead honestly felt like wringing something's neck. He had been, for lack of a better term, tricked into babysitting this high-maintenance, spoiled, whiny, picky excuse for a -

- Spirit's rant was once again cut off when the ebony-haired child hugged Spirit's legs. The boy barely came up to his knees, so the gesture itself was just so adorable it was criminal. And just like that, all that anger simply disappeared with Kid's innocent embrace. Spirit felt like hugging back, but he quickly decided that he didn't want to ruin the moment.

: :

As Spirit walked home that night, he decided something. Sure, he was scared to death at the thought of being a father, and he knew that Kami felt the same about motherhood; but if they worked hard enough, then the pair could get anything done. They had, after all, gotten Spirit to Death Scythe status in record timing. And, together, they had managed to create a tiny human being, a little baby that Spirit could call his own.

They had to do things right, or give their very all. This baby was worth it, boy or girl (though Spirit was still leaning towards a girl), and Kami was worth it, too. She took everything very well, even though she could've made an attempt at Spirit's life (probably would've succeeded, too).

And, Spirit figured, if he could manage to pacify a small child with the eyes of a grumpy old-timer, then he could take on an adorable, sweet-faced, chubby, pretty baby girl.

Or a boy. Boys are good, too.


End file.
